


Until the very end...

by Vixenility



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Gen, Mild Gore, something like that at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23672362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixenility/pseuds/Vixenility
Summary: Claire and Jill both face their biggest fear pathetically walking towards them. It's as bad as they thought.
Relationships: Claire Redfield/Jill Valentine
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	Until the very end...

**Author's Note:**

> I was to make a Jill x Claire fic, but it turned out to be angstier than necessary. Next time I will write something better, I promise.

  
Back against back, Jill Valentine held her last means of defense, a knife with her identity engraved in it in small print. S.T.A.R.S. The leather of her gloves crinkled as she held it tighter, her other palm against her wrist and preparing for what might be the fight of her life. Not out numbered neither out of ammo. Just a fight she would never forget, for however long she lived after.

Claire behind her, sturdy and standing her ground, held a bloodied bat with both hand curling tightly around the grip though sweaty palms threatened to make it slip in a fatal moment. Tired, muddied, bloodied and sore, Claire felt a drive to swing and take away anything in her path. But this time? She could not move, neither could she steady her nerves. She held onto the bat for dear life through shaky breath. 

"Steady your breath," Jill said softly, watching the horrifying creatures stagger back and forth without control, without aim. "Don't be afraid."

Claire nodded. "Don't hold back," she said in return, hoping to encourage Jill to act quick, despite the situation. It didn't come out inspiring, it was a bitter tasting encouragement.

The symphony of despair played within their heads -- a melancholic yet beautiful melody played on a violin, a haunting sonata that understood their emotions. A slow waltz of impending doom with a piano accentuating a possible ending. Blood was to be shed and the music, horrifyingly, begged for it.

In the city of the dead, there was no more blood to be shed. No live blood at least. Its citizens had decayed once more, but no one knows to what degree. Raccoon City all over again, but this was a city bigger than Raccoon City, messier than the last incident, not at all contained like the Mansion nor unknown like the Island. This was a whole bustling city crumbling to the ground, poetically, the same way it was brought up. Through inhumane treatment, through lies and corporate schemes, through false ideals, through secrets. The weight of the secrets brought the city down again, this time for god knows how far and wide. 

Did it matter right now? No. What mattered was to make it out alive. Something that two of the four survivors didn't manage.

Before Claire's cerulean eyes staggered the once-lively, once-alive Leon S. Kennedy now transformed into a grotesque version of himself with gray (turning slightly blue) skin and a jaw snapped open. His usually warm eyes were now devoid of color. Devoid of humanity in itself, much like his animalistic growl and grunt of pure hunger. His languid step made Claire nervous but gave her time to understand that it was over. He fought back against his own condition, he shook his own head. He tried. Claire knew then that the worst part was that they, too, were conscious to some degree. They, too, would be aware of their demise in the hands of their loved ones.

Jill tried to steady herself, to understand that it was over for her partner as well. Chris Redfield, Claire's very own older brother and last family member, was sluggishly moving forward towards her, his arms not up front and desperate to grab the fresh meat before him. Instead, perhaps his last ounce of will and sanity, told her to get out. He waved his arms around to get her to get away from him, to run for safety before the sun rose and before a possible nuclear strike rose with it. An eye fallen, his mouths and lips filled to the brim with coagulated blood and yet thirsty for more.

They both inhaled, they both said their goodbyes and -- within themselves, in their own silence -- said a prayer.

Though that would not bring back neither of them. Their memories, once lively and fun, would turn into sour and salty tears of anger each time. Their moments together, their achievements, now meant nothing.

The imaginary music rode its crescendo, turning into an overwhelming cacophony for both of the survivors. Then, it abruptly stopped, cruelly, to hear every sound of their new destiny.

Jill launched forward with a determining stab, and Claire swung harder than ever before with tears threatening to spill the moment she held the horrifying gargle of her brother. A doleful sigh, an unceremonious double thud and that was the end.

The world did not end with a bang, but a whimper. This whimper was one of ire and helplessness, one of sadness. A whimper drowned within the city of growling, grunting, moaning and sobbing creatures. Alive or dead.


End file.
